


this sucker’s dream

by trickydoll



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rating will probably change, Slow Burn, idk ill add tags as we go, they both like each other but they’re dense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickydoll/pseuds/trickydoll
Summary: This guy looked familiar.There’s a mop of curly brown hair on his head, eyes wide and brilliantly blue. Pete pursed his lips.Then it hit him.He smiled brightly, snapping his fingers, “Hey! You were at that party the other night! You were talking to Pretty Boy.”The dude let out a gentle and genuine chuckle, cocking one brow, “Yeah, I was there. Who are you, though? And…who the hell is pretty boy?”ON HIATUS. WILL BE COMPLETED.





	this sucker’s dream

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaand heres chapter fic number two  
> hello this idea has been eating me up for a long time now and you know what I’m just gonna post it  
> I rambled a whole 5k words to my friend abt this fic lmao....  
> anyway hope y’all enjoy this clusterfuck that’s abt to be “why can’t these two boys just make out already jfc”

The first time he sees him is at a crowded party.

 

Pete really only knows the host, but a lot of the faces are familiar, and he's super social, so it doesn't take him long to accumulate a circle of people around him. He's in the middle of listening to a dude ramble about some coursework he's doing when his eyes drift away from him at the faint sound of melodic laughter. His eyes land on the owner, and he feels his whole body cloud with a warm feeling.

 

He's very pretty. 

 

He's pale, skin looking perfect and unblemished. He has a baby face, pink lips pursed into a pout at some comment someone else has made, and there's soft looking blonde hair framing it all. To top it all off, there's a dorky hat on top of his head, pulled down enough that it shadows his eyes just enough that Pete can't see them well. 

 

He doesn't really need to in order to know he's absolutely one of the prettiest people he's ever seen. 

 

Pete's jerked out of his thoughts and staring as the group he's standing with start pulling him off to play beer pong. He smiled widely at them all, but managed to spare one more glance at the boy before disappearing into the next room. 

 

This time, he was looking back. 

 

\--

 

Pete cannot stop thinking about The Pretty Boy.

 

Yeah, that's what he's been dubbed as, considering Pete has no idea what his name could possibly be. 

 

Pete yawned, stretching his aching limbs as he shuffles into the campus cafeteria after what felt like one of the longest lectures of his life. He seriously wondered how his professor managed to keep a single student on track with anything when his classes took over an hour and about forty-five minutes was wasted by the amount of times he said ‘ _ um _ ’.

 

That aside, he needed something to eat before his stomach came to life and beat the shit out of him for skipping breakfast. 

 

He slid into the line, snagged a sandwich, and turned to go pay for it when he’s suddenly bumping into a man. He managed to halt himself before either of them go tumbling into the floor like fools, and he reached out to grip at the stranger’s arm on instinct. They make eye contact, and Pete has to take a moment to tilt his head. This guy looked familiar.

There’s a mop of curly brown hair on his head, eyes wide and brilliantly blue. Pete pursed his lips. 

 

Then it hit him.

 

He smiled brightly, snapping his fingers, “Hey! You were at that party the other night! You were talking to Pretty Boy.”

 

The dude let out a gentle and genuine chuckle, cocking one brow, “Yeah, I was there. Who are you, though? And…who the hell is  _ pretty boy? _ ”

 

A pink flush erupted across Pete’s face when he realized he’d just let the nickname he’d given that stranger- who was probably this guy’s friend -slip out like that, “Oh, uh, my bad. I’m Pete, and… he was like, short? Blonde hair, glasses, a really dorky hat?” 

 

The brunette seemed to be hit with a lot of emotions at once, and Pete wasn’t able to stop himself from wincing. He hoped he didn’t get slugged for calling his friend pretty. “Okay,” the stranger starts, “for one, Pete Wentz?” 

 

Pete nodded skeptically. 

 

“Two, you mean Patrick?”

 

Chills erupted across Pete’s arms and neck at the name. Just knowing it possibly belonged to the gorgeous man was enough to make it his new favorite word. “I guess that’s him, yeah.”

 

The guy squinted at him, giving him a once over. He ignored the fact that he'd just called his friend  _ pretty boy,  _ and instead focused on his name, “Pete Wentz…you have a reputation for being a bit of a heartbreaker, huh?” 

 

Pete deflated, “I'm not a bad guy. Rumors are rumors. I'm not the best with relationships maybe but I'm not….” He gestured vaguely, but the stranger seemed to understand and nodded over his shoulder as a indicator for Pete to follow him.

 

They sit across from each other at a table in a corner of the room, and the brunette finally offered him his hand, “I'm Joe, by the way.” The smile on his face was gentle and welcoming, and it made Pete smile right back and take his hand.

 

Joe went quiet for a moment, shoving a chip into his mouth as his eyes darted up and down Pete again. “So,” he started as he swallowed, “you think Patrick is pretty?” 

 

There's a smirk on his face, and Pete felt the blush explode up to his ears again, “Yeah. Like...really pretty.”

 

Joe looked more than amused, “Interesting.”

 

Pete said nothing for a long time just looked down at his unwrapped sandwich with red cheeks. Finally, he cleared his throat, “Is he your friend?”

 

“Yep. Best friend in fact.”

 

Another stretch of silence filled with Joe munching on the chips until he's tilting the bag up to his mouth and successfully spilling the crumbs across his face. 

 

“Is he single?”

 

Joe dusted his face off, looking at Pete with an unreadable expression. “Yes.”

 

Pete nodded, his fingers drumming against the table to try and calm his ever pounding heart, “Where is he?” 

 

“My dorm,” Joe balled up the plastic bag, tossing it into the garbage successfully, “He's gotten himself into trouble because he's, like, super feisty about his music.”

 

Pete nodded, his own good entirely forgotten now that pretty boy-  _ Patrick _ is the topic of conversation. 

“He got into a disagreement with this kid over a project...thing. He strangled him against the wall or something. Got himself suspended for the semester like the true troublesome genius he is! He hides out in my dorm now.” Joe laughed, “He's super passionate about his music. Can play just about anything you hand him,  _ and _ he's got the voice of a true God.”

 

Pete completely ignored that this kid apparently strangled some poor dude over a project to go all doey eyed over the fact that he was super  _ talented  _ apparently. Of course someone who looked that perfect had to go and truly be perfect. He sighed, almost dreamily. 

 

“He won't sing, though.”

 

Pete's brows furrowed, and Joe only shrugged sadly, “Self confidence issues. He'll probably laugh if you call him pretty.”

 

Pete doesn't like that at all.

 

“Anyway, I have a class starting in fifteen, but you should come by the ‘ol Stump-Trohman dormitory for some video games,” he paused, picking at his teeth, “That's our last names, by the way, if you didn't catch on. I'm Trohman.”

 

Pete laughed genuinely at that, then it stopped abruptly when he realized what Joe was doing. He was going to bring him, a stranger with a bad rep, to his room and be his wingman for Pretty Boy?

 

Joe Trohman was a godsend. An absolute blessing on Pete's potential love life. 

 

“That sounds like a plan to me. Here,” he handed over his phone after fishing it out of his pocket, “You can put your room number in my notes- and your actual number, if you want.”

 

Joe smiled and gave him both before heading out with an enthusiastic wave.

 

Pete sighed all over again, happy, and sunk into his chair with closed eyes.

 

Behind his eyes, he saw Pretty Boy.

 

_ Patrick.  _

 

_ \-- _

 

Pete spent the rest of the day an anxious mess. He'd texted Joe an hour after their impromptu lunch and asked him when a good time to come by would be. 

 

Joe had told him any time after six tonight was okay for him, and lucky for him, Pete's last class of the day ended at six-forty-five on the dot. However, now he was too distracted to actually pay attention in that class. His palms were sweating and his head was swimming with all kinds of scenarios.

 

What if he walked in and kissed Pretty Boy on the spot? 

 

He shook his head, resisting the urge to smack himself in the forehead. 

 

By the last twenty minutes of class, he's managed to focus himself down enough to jot down a vague mess of the important notes scrawled on the board before everyone is dismissed. He stood, gathering his things, before walking stiffly all the way back to his own dorm. He dropped his things onto his bed, changed into something slightly more presentable- yet still casual -than his lazy garb he threw on this morning, and even added of a dash of cologne. For no reason in particular, what's wrong with smelling nice? 

 

He shot Joe a text at five ‘til seven, letting him know he was on his way, and after a mild confusion and twisting around the halls twice, he finds their room. He brushed his fingers against the door gently in a knock, rocking on his heels as the anxiety came rushing into his system again. 

 

The door opens to reveal Joe in all his bushy hair, blue eyed glory. He grinned, pulling Pete in for a quick hug, which surprises the dark haired male, but he returned it with a smile of his own. Joe stepped to the side, allowing Pete to walk in and look around. It's half tidy, half a mess. There's posters on the wall- musical artists that Pete fondly recognized -and across the desk is a litany of sheet music. There's a keyboard on one rumpled bed, and the other is nearly made up. There are clothes here and there in the floor. It feel homey, though, for a dorm room. 

 

Joe kicked away a t-shirt from where it laid crumpled in front of the tv, and flopped down in the floor, patting the spot next to him. Pete set himself down, taking the controller shoved into his hand gratefully. “So…” he started as Joe sorted through the stack of games precariously stacked on top of the small entertainment center, “where is Patrick?”

 

Joe turned to him with a smug look, “Ah, don't worry, he's just out on a snack run. He promised me he’d get the good for game night this time since I always do it.” 

 

“Does he know I'm here?”

 

Joe didn’t reply, only grinned wider, and Pete swallowed hard. 

 

They go head to head in  _ Mortal Kombat  _ a few times, and Pete somehow managed to win almost every time. Joe called him a cheat, and Pete tackled him playfully. They get along swimmingly, and Pete honestly believed that even if the whole Patrick thing was a failure, he at least made a friend in Joe. 

 

They're looking through the collection of games again, debating on which ones are worth playing for the night when the door opened suddenly and loudly. Joe didn't even flinch, just kept looking with a furrowed brow at some indie game and muttering to himself about its self worth. Pete, on the other hand, jumped so hard he could almost swear every organ in his body shifted upwards. 

 

He glanced up, and his throat immediately goes dry. Standing in the doorway, with a mild look of confusion, is Patrick himself. And Pete thought he might actually die then and there, because up close, Patrick is even nicer to look at.

 

He's all soft edges and light colors. His eyes are dancing between blue and green, and his hair- blonde with the faintest hints of a strawberry red -is still covered with a hat. His complexion is fair, with the faintest hint of a freckle here and there. His lips are full and pink and perfect, and parted ever so slightly in silent question. He blinked, and long lashes cast across flushed and round cheeks. He's short, is plump in all the right ways, and has hips, thighs, and legs good enough to kill Pete right then and there. 

 

This is when he realized he has been checking Patrick out, and his eyes darted back up to meet the ocean ones again. At this point, Joe has decided to stop glaring at his games and acknowledge Patrick, which Pete is thankful for because it means the other stops looking at him in favor of looking to his roommate, holding up the bags in his hand. 

 

“Thank you, my honey,” the brunette coos. Patrick glared in reply, dropping the stuff on top of their mini fridge. Then, he pointed to Pete. “He's a new friend! I met him at lunch today because I was lonely because  _ someone  _ had to go and get suspended because he's picky!”

 

Patricks glare hardens, but Joe only glowered back. Their dynamic intrigued Pete beyond belief. 

 

The blonde’s features soften as he grabbed a bag of popcorn, and decided to sit next to Pete with crossed legs. Pete stiffened, chancing a glance over at the boy. He's watching Joe sort through the discs again, and  _ jesus  _ he's nice to look at from every angle. Pete needed some water. 

 

He gets distracted by Joe fumbling with his stack of games, and laughed heartily as he slotted  _ Mario Kart _ into the system. “It's a classic for parties! Only two controllers, though, and since we have a guest, you have to wait, Patrick.” 

 

Patrick only shrugged. 

 

They start up a race, and Pete is beating Joe by managing to be in 4th while he's stuck in 6th, but that all comes crashing down around him when Joe cursed in frustration, which in turn made Patrick let out of a soft laugh. His face heated up instantly, and he spared a glance from the corner of his eye to see the gentle smile lingering on the boy’s face. It got him knocked down from 4th to 7th, and Joe is making mocking sounds next to him as he raced his way up to 2nd. Pete found it hard to care, though, continuing to watch Patrick every so often from his peripheral. 

 

He finished in a sad 10th place, while Joe celebrates his 3rd. Pete took another side eyed look at Patrick, but this time the blonde is looking back. He jolted, turning his head so they're making direct eye contact now, and Patrick smirked. Actually  _ smirked _ with his perfectly kissable lips and Pete almost choked on his spit. 

 

He's desperate to say something to the blonde now. He'd been silent the whole time, and Pete wanted to his the voice that belonged to such a nice face. So, he put his hand out, and muttered, “I'm Pete by the way. Pete Wentz.”

 

The smaller man took his hand into his own- soft with callouses at the fingertips -and shook. 

 

“Patrick. Patrick Stump.”

 

_ God,  _ of course his voice is nice and beautiful. Everything about him is. It's got a ring to it that made Pete want to listen to him talk for hours, then he remembered that voice could sing, and he doesn't think he's ever wanted to hear anything so much in his life. This will do for now, though.

 

“I'm disappointed. You were totally going to kick Joe's ass and show that cocky son of a bitch what's what, but you fell apart,” he clicked his tongue, holding out an open palm to Pete, “My turn. I'll show you how it's done.” 

 

Pete placed the controller in his hand, and watched intently the rest of the time as Patrick played- sticking his tongue out, biting his lip, furrowing his brow, and driving Pete mad slowly but surely. 

 

This was going to be a long night.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @smileywentz


End file.
